That's exactly how I reacted. "Good God, this can't be... there's no fucking way... tell me this isn't..." But it is: Elvis tunes with a Nine Inch Nails-style industrial makeover. No catch.

You can blink now. This is real, so very, very real. And not even funny to boot.

And so, remaining faithful to their long, storied history, Invisible Records has released yet another unbearable listening product. At the helm of this brilliant idea is a mysterious man using the supposed pseudonym "J. Wilder." My money is on Martin Atkins-- ex-member of PiL, current member of Pigface, and founder of the Invisible imprint. In 1995, he also made an album called An Industrial Christmas Carol. I can't help but think that the same person who hatched that concept also hatched this one. But it's just a guess.

I wish I could, but I can't digress anymore. Forgive me Lord, for I actually have to describe the music. As it turns out, not every song sounds like NIN. The first real track-- after the industrial-noodling of "Beginnings"-- is a cover of "All Shook Up." The beat is at times more clubby and driving than Nine Inch Nails, resembling Nitzer Ebb and KMFDM, respectively. The vocals, meanwhile, are standard industrial fare: monotonous, ominous and muffled. Wilder retains the dramatic pause between "I'm in love" and "I'm all shook up," but otherwise, the song sounds nothing like the original. The next track, "Jailhouse Rock," has more in common with its Elvis version, but this doesn't make the music any more bearable. Imagine Elvis performing live from Detroit's largest sheet-metal plant-- all masculine aggression, no stylish swagger.

The songs that are reminiscent of NIN are of the Pretty Hate Machine variety. All of Reznor's early trademarks are here: a plodding pre-programmed beat, electronic guitar chords, that zigzagging tin sound, and of course, the no-brains, all-balls cacophony of angst. "Hound Dog" is "Terrible Lie" meets, well, "Hound Dog"; its tawdry guitar solo and Cellephania's irritating backup vocals (possibly an aliased Meg Lee Chin) make it one of the most humbling moments of torture on the entire album. "Heartbreak Hotel," meanwhile, has Déjà vu moments of "Kinda I Want To" and "Head Like a Hole." But, in truth, most of the tracks here have something in common with any number of late-'80s industrial acts. Thus, to make things worse-- is it possible?-- this album sounds painfully dated, too.

On the bright side, the lyrics one-up Trent Reznor's. But Mr. Wilder didn't write them, so I can't give him too much credit in that department, can I? Surely he realized that the line, "Well, since my baby left me/ I found a new place to dwell/ It's down at the end of lonely street/ At Heartbreak Hotel," is better than, "Head like a hole/ Black as a soul/ I'd rather die/ Than give you control." Even if only by a bit.

This album is painful. Not razor-cut painful, or even twisted-ankle painful, but rather headbutting-a-lit-gas-stove painful. I know because I did this three weeks ago. It hurt. This hurts. I want to laugh with J. Wilder, or at him, but I can't even do that. Nine Inch Elvis is too painful not to be taken seriously. So why, then, does Pitchfork even bother reviewing this tripe? To let you know that this kind of thing is happening in the world, even here in first-world America. Thousands of people are spending their time and money on projects like Nine Inch Elvis, and nothing's being done to stop it. People, join me in the fight. Together we can we stop cochlear cruelty.

-Ryan Kearney